A tall elven male walks from out of the dark alleyway of the seattle sprawl, wearing a black tank top, black pants, and shoes. He looks up at the various lights, signs, squatters, and other dredges of the society of the streets he has called his home for years. His white diamond orbs pierce thru the various dark shadows as he leans against a wall the smoke from his cigarette lingering around him as he lets the thick cloud of menthol smoke escape out thru his nose. "Need some creds," he thinks to himself as he ponders on which Johnson to go to. The bright neon lights around him cast down slightly making the hints of platinum in his short cut black hair glitter like small access nodes. He looks around again seeming to be waiting but waiting for what?.............

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